The train skipped the 181 stop and added a few extra minutes to a trip recently. The notice for the diversion was at the stop unfortunately, not at the start but I was happy to find this tunnel since I am fond of graffiti art. Here is a post I wrote last year about graffiti from the decade of fire, as tools of resistance.
The poem is a work in progress based on a prompt from a friend and this here, is the first version.
In those dark places they call tunnels,
a halfway house, for after the blaze,
and before the light, she feels culled
from an execration, to stay awhile,
and see the writing on the wall, in
the fallopian tube of mother.
We were seeking the womb and chose
to embed like a whispered dream within,
pulsing in horror and those here before us,
magnified the sentiment on the wall
to reveal the colour of words and this
tunnel is long as the words are large.